


Childish Things

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor Character Death, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Watson's first stories holds more truth than he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childish Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #13: A Tale Foretold.  
> Warnings: Slash goggles firmly in place on this one. Not much plot. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.

“What have you got there, Mother Hen?”  
  
Watson started, and the paper he held in his hand dropped into the wooden box on the floor in front of him. “Holmes. I didn’t hear you come in.”  
  
“That’s moderately obvious, dear boy.” Holmes dropped gracefully into a crouch and peered at the box in front of Watson, bright eyes taking in every detail. One hand came up to rest on Watson’s shoulder, while the other lightly touched the once brightly-painted wood, now faded and dingy.“A relict of your childhood, clearly, but why now?”  
  
“One of my brother’s former landlords discovered it in his lumber-room, and being an honest sort, forwarded it on to Harry’s last known address. Which wasn’t the last, but eventually it found its way to me. Which is only just, I suppose, as it really is mine, not his.”  
  
Watson’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Holmes heard everything that lay beneath it, and gave Watson’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. He knew how much of a sore point Watson’s late elder brother was for his friend. He did not ask why Harry Watson had kept the box, for he could already deduce the reasons, and besides, the question would only further roil Watson’s already stirred-up emotions.  “And have you discovered childhood treasure?” he asked instead.  
  
Surprisingly, Watson’s cheeks pinked. “More like nonsense.”  
  
“Oh?” Holmes could not resist such bait as that. He snatched up the paper Watson had dropped and sprang up to stand near the closest lamp. He started to read the paper, ignoring Watson’s sputtered protest and attempts to take it back. “The Adventure of Admiral Watson and the Corsican Pirates?” he chortled, delighted.  
  
“Holmes!”  
  
“…bravely set his course for the heart of the pirate fleet, no matter that he was outnumbered, eight ships to one…”  
  
“Holmes, give that back!”  
  
“…stumbled when struck foully from behind. He might have been run through then and there, but First Mate Collins lunged forward and bravely took the next blow upon his own sword…”  
  
“Really, Holmes, I -!”  
  
“…though sorely wounded himself, Admiral Watson insisted that the ship’s doctor tend to his men first…”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes.” Watson’s tone snuffed Holmes’ glee and recitation alike. “I thank you not to further remind me of my youthful folly.”  
  
“Folly?” Holmes stared at his friend. “Nothing of the sort! My dear fellow, it’s practically prophetic.”  
  
Watson’s scowl was a welcome sight, a vast improvement over the icy politeness of a moment earlier. “Nonsense. I dreamed of joining the Navy as a child, and having grand battles, and achieving high rank. Need I remind you that none of that came to pass?”  
  
Holmes shook his head and tucked the paper into the inside of his coat before placing both hands on Watson’s shoulders. “You may have been wrong in one or two details, Watson, but in the essentials it’s clear your character was already formed. You wrote of becoming a hero, bravely facing obstacles despite the odds, and of putting honour and duty above all.” He stared into Watson’s eyes, refusing to let the other man look away. “I can think of nothing more true than that.”  
  
Watson flushed and harrumphed into his moustache. “Thank you for the flattery, Old Cock, but we both know that isn’t true.”  
  
“On the contrary. I have observed it countless times.” Holmes tightened his grip on Watson’s shoulders and shook him gently. “And if you weren’t so charmingly blind to seeing what is in front of you, you’d have observed as much as well.” He let go of one of Watson’s shoulders and reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the embarrassed warmth of Watson’s skin and the gentle brush of his moustache against his palm. “I would have recognized you in an instant in your tale, whether or not you actually gave the character your name. In fact, he’s far more like the real you than the dolt you put in the stories you sell to the Strand.” Holmes grinned suddenly. “Certainly your early efforts proved prophetic as to the kind of writer you would become: a pure storyteller, with no logic or method to be found. Really, Watson. Pirates?”  
  
Watson started to frown, then his eyes narrowed as he took in Holmes’ expression: the dark glitter in his eyes, the way his tongue darted out briefly to touch his lips. “Pirate tales are very popular, Holmes,” he said mildly. “In fact, as poor an observer as I am, I believe that pirate stories might hold some interest for you, personally.” He lowered his voice. “Would you perhaps like to hear some more… _personal_ …stories of Admiral Watson and his dealings with one particular pirate?”  
  
If anything, Holmes’ eyes darkened further. “My dear Watson, it would be my very great pleasure to hear some of your…bedtime stories, in the very near future.”  
  
Watson grinned. “I believe that can be arranged. Adventure stories are always best when told in private.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 13, 2015


End file.
